


The First Time

by eawen_penallion



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Age, First Time, Grief, Loss, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Middle Earth, Valinor, aman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eawen_penallion/pseuds/eawen_penallion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the Secret Santa Swap 2005. </p>
<p>The request for the story was: First time, romance - written for Ezra's Persian Kitty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ezra's Persian Kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ezra%27s+Persian+Kitty).



The first time that Erestor ever saw Glorfindel, he hated him on sight. Oh, perhaps hate was too strong a word. Dislike intensely was nearer the mark. Golden hair, golden smile, golden boy. Perfect skin, perfect posture. Rich family, powerful father, Vanya mother - what was there to like?

And Erestor - what did he have to commend him? Dark hair of midnight hue; long, lanky, lean; no childishly-round features for him, but sharp chin to match sharp, piercing eyes. No sun dare hit his milky flesh, pale as moonlight. His bloodline claimed no lords, no Vanyar, no nobility, for his father but a steward in the Lord's house, his mother a nursemaid to the Lord's son. Where in these lowly attributes was Erestor to find power, wealth, glory? Where on this lowly rung on the ladder to prestige was he to be placed? For he was ambitious - for him naught else would do but the top of the ladder, the pinnacle, the peak.

Dislike, hatred, envy, jealousy. Call it what one will. All Erestor knew was that the golden smile seemed to be a golden smirk, and he reached to wipe it off Glorfindel's face...

"Erestor!"

His mother's belaying action came too late, and the child Erestor chortled with delight as the slap resounded against the tanned cheek and the golden boy began to wail. His mother grasped his hand and shook it, turning him towards her to deliver her reprimand.

"No, Erestor! That was ill done! Young Lord Glorfindel did naught to you. An elf does not lay hands upon another elf, for any reason." His mother turned to her Lady, her face flushed with shame. "I am sorry, my lady. I know not why my son should do such a thing - he is normally such a placid child."

The Lady smiled even as she cradled and comforted her weeping child against her breast. The golden boy hiccuped, his sobbing breaths subsiding in the warm safety of his mother's arms. A chubby thumb slid between the rose pink lips and he began to suck. Bewildered sapphire eyes gazed down upon his attacker, trying to understand why the servant's boy should hurt him.

"Do not fret, Liridel. Such spurious spats are not uncommon as babies test their limits. Little Erestor is too young comprehend what he did. Mayhap in his little mind he has some dislike of Glorfindel, for whatever reason, but come - no harm has been done!" She chuckled. "Perhaps with that perfect aim and air of determination young Erestor will become one of our stoutest warriors, and stand at Glorfindel's back as his aide-de-camp."

Liridel laughed dutifully with her mistress, but she had also seen the look in her son's eyes as he gazed upon the little lord, and she determined to be watchful whenever the two children were together in future.

***

The first time that Glorfindel was required to spar with his childhood acquaintance, he held back. 

These mock battles were rites of passage in an elfling's training, and Glorfindel was both used to the martial workout and to the accolades he garnered either genuinely for his skill, or from sycophantic hangers-on. Normally the young lord threw himself into these bouts wholeheartedly for he was confident enough in his skill to enjoy them. He always played fair, defeating his opponents with ease yet allow them the comfort of knowing that he treated them with respect, countering each feint and parry as if it might actually impress upon his defense. Glorfindel was well on his way to becoming a mighty warrior.

But this was Erestor.

The thorn in his side; the mote in his eye. Smaller, physically weaker, the son of a servant and destined to become a servant; Glorfindel's peers did not understand why he always seemed to be leery of the scrawny, black-headed youth. They had not seen the looks of distaste that Erestor had cast his way throughout their upbringing; nor felt the secret pinches always inflicted upon him where no one else could see; nor had been the target of witty and caustic asides, just amusing enough that they brought laughter from their contemporaries and not vicious enough to draw censure. This interminable diet of destructive behavior had given Glorfindel cause to keep his distance from the black-tempered youth. Yet he mused on how often he had almost admired the boy, for his intellect, his insight and his quiet and gentle nature (where others were concerned, of course - never to him).

Now he had to spar with Erestor - defend himself and defeat his foe. If he won (which by all rights he ought) then Erestor's ire would be kindled and his enmity inflamed. If he allowed the dark elf to win (and he should not, for the elf had little skill and even less interest in warfare) then the twisted tongue of the victor would be let loose and the victory would be crowed from the spires of Tirion. Even then the hatred would not be dampened for Erestor, sharp of mind and intellect, would know instantly that Glorfindel had played him.

When the command came to begin the bout Glorfindel hefted his sword and faced his opponent.

He won. Even holding back, Erestor was no match for his superior wielding of the weapon. Erestor did make some fine moves, a few erudite maneuvers that Glorfindel admired in their execution, but in the end Glorfindel was the victor. The salutation given upon completion was cursory, the participants drew back, and as Glorfindel walked away he could not rejoice in his victory. Instead, remembering the last glare of midnight eyes, he felt an incomprehensible pang in his heart.

****

The first time that Erestor attended the Celebratory Ball as an adult elf, he was filled with dreadful anticipation. As an elf who had reached full maturity his attendance was expected. As a young and eligible ellon, it was required. This was the beginning of the path to marriage. Oh, not quite yet - he was expected to ground himself in his career first - but he knew that this dance would be where he and his contemporaries were presented as potential mates. Even someone as lowly as him.

The Celebratory Ball, held in remembrance of the elves awakening upon the shores of Cuiviénen, was open to all the elves of Tirion, nobility and commoner alike. The festival was held in the lush groves that edged the city, where lights twinkled in the trees and the musicians played their sweet tunes as the joyous participants danced lightly across the lush grass. The air was sweet, filled with the perfume of many kinds of flowers and, nearer the banqueting tables, tempting aromas of meats and sweetmeats alike. 

Erestor pulled at his tunic self-consciously, feeling somewhat exposed in the rich red brocade, delicately edged in silver. He had not wanted to wear it for it was finer than he or his family were used to, but his mother had gone to great lengths to bring together an outfit that was worthy of the occasion. She had not said from where she had purchased it but Erestor suspected that it was not new. Instead it was probably given to her by one of the ladies of the House of the Golden Flower, a cast off from one of the noble youths of the House. Another reason not to wear it, for Erestor loathed to be beholden to anyone. He loved his parents though and, being the only son, he knew that they only wanted for him to partake of all that was open to him. Hence his new position as apprentice scribe in the Counsel chambers of the tribes of the Noldor - and his attendance at this farcical ball, where he fully expected to be a wallflower.

Erestor never had any faith in his own attractiveness. As he hovered at the edge of the gathering there were those who gazed openly and admiringly at the striking youth. They saw not the lank straggly hair and sallow skin that Erestor attributed to himself but instead a fall of black silk framing a creamy, flawless complexion. They saw not a scrawny elfling with hollow, bruised eyes overtired from too much study or half-hidden fingertips stained from the commonplace ink that pervaded his workplace. Instead the curious and the lust-filled saw the exotic slant of sparkling orbs, mysterious in shuttered depths curtained by absurdly lush black lashes; and slender fingers poised in elegance, promise of tender touches and beguiling embraces.

Thus it was that Erestor hung back away from the dancers, longing only to escape from assumed humiliation, whereas his admirers mourned that he would not step forth to choose a partner from the throngs of panting females - and no few males.

Erestor noted that Glorfindel had no such lack of partners. 

He had been startled when he first saw the golden lord, finely arrayed in sapphire blue silks to match his glorious eyes. His hair was brushed to a burnished sheen, lightly braided but mostly swinging free as a cloth of gold about his shoulders. He held none of the doubts that Erestor felt but was instead at ease in his interactions with the other merrymakers, and was enjoying himself immensely. Light of feet and a generous dance partner, he was in much demand and indeed, scarcely left the grove all evening.

In his self-imposed solitude Erestor could only watch him, green envy crawling through his veins. 

The night progressed with Glorfindel dancing and Erestor not - but his solitary state had been noted by his erstwhile enemy. Although yet wary of his childhood tormenter, Glorfindel had not seen Erestor in some time by that stage, for their studies had taken them on different paths. So to see Erestor so resplendent but still so alone stirred something in Glorfindel's breast and he mourned their conflict - which had not been of his making - for otherwise he would have captured Erestor's attention for his own.

Then came the Ring dance, especially for the newly come-of-age, and none were allowed to abjure this duty. Two circles were made, an inner and an outer, which would circle each other in opposite directions. At intervals the music would change and the opposing elves would claim each other in a separate dance. Then the circles would reform and move once more, bringing the dancers to new partners. Erestor lined up with his contemporaries, noting that he was in the outer circle whereas Glorfindel was amongst those who formed the inner chain. 

Their meeting was inevitable, but still it was a shock to find himself in the golden lord's arms. With grace beyond measure Erestor was guided through the first stumbling steps before training took over and he began to tread the dance in perfect harmony with Glorfindel.

They were a beautiful sight, black and gold, the physical contrast made all the more alluring by the psychic connection between them. Older elves nodded sagely amongst themselves, pleased to determine that this indeed would be a match made by the Valar.

On the dance floor they moved as one, exhilarated by this new sensation that flowed between them. For once Erestor was speechless and could only gaze into the azure orbs of his partner. Why had he never noticed how beautiful they were, how open and honest? So alluring and entrancing... And those rose pink lips, plump and ripe for kissing...

Glorfindel looked into midnight eyes sparkling with stars and wondered why he had never drowned in them before, and saw a pouting crimson mouth begging to be caressed by his own...

Erestor almost screamed when the ring dance music began once more, and scrambling hands tore them apart as laughing elves hurried to form the circle again. He felt torn with each step that took him away from his golden lord yet there was nothing he could do. In numb acceptance he registered the music stopping and a new partner curtseyed to him.

The next morning he heard that the warrior recruits were to be stationed out of Tirion, all the better to further their training.

****

Erestor first heard of Fëanor's rebellious declaration when he returned from his duties at the Counsel. All Tirion had been rife with outrage and speculation in the uproar that had followed the theft of the Silmarils and the destruction of the Two Trees, but nothing like this had been postulated as a possible outcome. Now Fëanor's people were gathering, ready to join his family in exile. 

"Erestor! Come quick!"

Erestor looked to the window where his fellow clerk stood looking out over the busy street.

"What is wrong, Diniel?"

The young elf waved excitedly out of the open casement with ink-stained fingers.

" Lord Fëanor is leaving!"

Erestor crossed swiftly to join his friend and stared with amazement at the column of elves that passed beneath them. At the lead of the procession rode Fëanor on a black stallion, both horse and rider exhibiting the immense pride that pervaded the house of Finwë. Broad-shouldered with whipcord muscles derived from his vocation as a metalsmith, Fëanor was the embodiment of the Noldor. He held his black head high and the molten fires of the smelt flashed in his eyes. 

Ranged behind him were his seven sons, each bearing themselves with equally proud demeanor. Of them all only Maedhros seemed not to be totally in tune with the decision that had brought them to this inconceivable schism. His red hair swung like a fall of flames about his shoulders, his eyes darted about the packed streets as if searching for a reprieve or seeking some hope that this was some nightmare that could be shattered in the cold light of dawn.

"It is said that Fëanor swore a terrible oath, one that has laid an insufferable curse upon the souls of his sons. Lord Manwë himself expelled them from Aman. They are headed to Alqualondë to seek passage to Middle Earth on the ships of the Teleri," Diniel stated, his eyes scarce believing what they witnessed. 

"And what of the other lords, his brothers?" Erestor asked. "They surely did not agree with Fëanor? Not all of the lords of the Noldor will leave their people behind to venture on such a hopeless quest?"

Diniel shrugged, gesturing to the elves below. "See for yourself. Aye, not all will leave - but many do. See, there is Lord Fingon and his brother Turgon, and there the Lady Nerwen."

"She goes too?" Erestor exclaimed. He pushed his friend to the side, leaning forward to gain a better view.

It was then that he saw him for the first time in years, high up in the ranks of lords who had followed the House of Fingon either through loyalty or lust for adventure. Golden hair was bound in a soldier's braid, posture straight upon the stallion's back nudging the beast forward only with his knees and the reassuring clicking language of the equus. Across his wide back he bore his broadsword with which he had won much renown at the combat tournaments. Erestor could tell from the laughing banter he exchanged with his dark-haired companion that he had chosen this course from a need for excitement, not vengeance.

Sapphire blue eyes lifted to acknowledge the prurient curiosity of the elves in the surrounding buildings and Erestor knew that it was by pure chance that their eyes met. Sparkling blue recognized midnight black and a connection was re-forged. 

Erestor gasped, shrinking back yet he could not break that chord. Here was his enemy, the paragon who had plagued him since birth. Always the example of perfection that he had been measured against, if not by his parents then by himself. The beauteous partner of the ring dance, the magical moment when he had connected with a soul that spoke to his. A moment that he had subsumed in his intense confusion following that night. Erestor was torn, bereft when he realized what Glorfindel's presence in the procession meant. He gasped. 

"I have to go! I have to talk to him, persuade him that this is not for him. He - he cannot leave..."

"Who?" Diniel grasped at Erestor's arm, holding him firmly. "Erestor, nay! They are the lost, the damned. They have rebelled against the Valar and have imposed their own exile! If you go amongst them then you will be cast as one of them. Do not act in haste. Think of your parents, of your family. Think of your future!"

Erestor struggled, trying to force Diniel to release him yet he was unable to give any explanation for his need to go amongst the exiles. What to say? 'The ellon that I both loathe and... have feelings for... is leaving and I must make him stay'? Even as Erestor formulated that thought he rejected it. The moment was past, the fugitives fled. In sorrowful acceptance Erestor turned away from the window and back to his duties.

When the horrific news of the massacre of Alqualondë came to Tirion, Erestor retreated to his solitary chamber and, to his amazement, wept for the damned soul of his golden lord.

****

Erestor's first opportunity to visit Middle Earth came with the Valars' call-to-arms. The courageous actions of the human mariner, Eärendil, had persuaded the Valar to take action against their fallen brother. They would lead an assault against Melkor and his distorted Maiar, his soulless minions who had so tortured and twisted innocent elves into an orcish army. 

The scribe was not an obvious choice for the Valar's army, as was pointed out to him by his elders.

"You are mistaken, my lords. Although I underwent arms training with my peers it is not in a warrior capacity that I would best serve. I am a scribe, an organiser, a manager of the everyday things that an army needs. I would be a quartermaster, a logician, a maker of strategy. You have enough warriors to fill your army. Now allow me and those of my ilk to get you to where we are going with supplies aplenty."

The logic of his argument could not be denied and later, in the midst of battle, many silently thanked providence for the presence of Erestor and his own army of clerks, physicians and supply masters. In one move, Erestor had placed himself at the forefront of the minds of many powerful elves - a position he was determined to manipulate to his own advantage later.

And so the world was torn apart and reshaped in the War of Wrath, for gods cannot wage war in their playground without ruining some of their toys. Although the Army of Light was triumphant and Melkor was expelled from the universe of Arda, still the memories of the elves were despoiled by the knowledge that many of Morgoth's lapdogs had escaped retribution. 

The survivors of the war banded together in different groups. The Sindar trusted not the Noldor after the slaying of their king by the sons of Fëanor. They took their people over the new-formed Misty Mountains to dwell in the vast Greenwood, or to make acquaintance of their Silvan brothers. 

The Noldor took to the new realm of Lindon and the sovereignty of Ereinion Gil-Galad, son of Fingon and High King of the Noldor. It was to this camp that Erestor aligned himself, for somewhere within him he felt a small, nay miniscule, sliver of curiosity with regard to the fate of a certain golden lord. 

Erestor found the information hard to come by for he did not wish to be seen actively seeking the Vanya, yet there was very little written testimony to be found intact after all the turmoil. By all accounts Turgon's kin had apparently founded a hidden kingdom that was later destroyed by Morgoth's hordes. None of the surviving documents had lists of the survivors of that holocaust - or of the dead. 

It was by accident that the clerk learned the fate of his - his what? Not friend, for never had Erestor made any of the normal overtures of friendship to Glorfindel. Nor was there any - romantic - connotations. Erestor winced at this notion for, following their unspeakably awkward dance, there had been many who had congratulated him on making a fine match. His responses had been acerbic, to say the least, and many a sensitive female had fled with hands over assaulted ears.

His obsession. That much was true, for too many nights had been disturbed by dreams of golden hair and sapphire eyes, much to his disgust. He was also often annoyed when he found himself idly drawing flowers during the day - golden celandines in full bloom...

There was also a more recent feeling that had preyed upon his mind much in recent years, a hollow space that had opened at the very core of his being. Cold yet filled with fierce fire, he had many times awoken with a pounding in his heart and a silent scream upon his lips. What importance to place upon this portent he would not acknowledge.

Thus it was that one soft summer's evening the clerk took it in his mind to stroll amongst the tents of homeless elves that lined the road from the High King's seat in Lindon to the Grey Havens of Mithlond. This road was the most common route of passage of elves to the West and many took this journey following the granting of amnesty by the Valar. Oft times the traveling elves would sit in remembrance of their time in Middle Earth and Erestor would pass amongst them, listening to their stories and songs. He sometimes transcribed these tales as best he could, wondering if one day another might find use for them. He had often wished there had been a diligent historian in the ravaged Gondolin. Perhaps there had been, and perhaps he had perished alongside his records when the firedrakes and balrogs had come.

As if his musings had been brought forth into audible range, a soft lament penetrated his thoughts, voices mourning the fall of that great city - and its heroes. 

Time halted. 

The heart that pounded in the terrors of night now stumbled in dread realization. A name was sung in reverent verse, a dirge for his valiant sacrifice on the cliffs of Cirith Thoronath. The description of his fall and fiery death were explicit and undeniable.

Erestor gulped, swallowing to stem the cry that threatened to erupt from his throat. In the quiet murmurings that followed the completion of the salutary tale, one elf noticed the ellon who stood frigid within earshot, his shock and distress clearly apparent.

"My lord? Art thou ill? Do you need aid?" the elf asked. His deference stemmed from his recognition of Erestor as one of the Host of the Valar, an elf of purity and honour.

Erestor shook his head, not trusting his voice. The hopeless dread that he had barely sampled in his dreams had now burst forth in all its ferocity and he was overwhelmed by the anguish that permeated throughout his body and soul. Finally he found the strength to speak - just.

"Glorfindel? Dead?"

The elf nodded in sympathetic sorrow. "Aye, my lord. He died during the flight from Gondolin, in battle with the balrog - as you heard. We are refugees of that city and witnesses to his death. We honoured his passing in song." He paused, stumbling over his choice of words. "Did you - did you know him, my lord? Was he kin?"

Erestor shook his head. "He was my -" He swallowed once more. Not friend, not lover though he now wished he had been. Too late did Erestor recognise the feelings that had pervaded his soul - a soul that now understood the loss of its mate. Yet he could not speak of that here, in this place. None would understand, could understand.

"We were children together."

"I am sorry for your loss, my lord."

Erestor nodded at the gentle words.

"So am I."

****

The summons to Gil-Galad's chambers at the dead of night was not unusual, for the High King was an ellon who often indulged in capriciousness. As Erestor navigated the dimly-lit passages he pondered on the nature of Ereinion's whims this time, chuckling lightly to himself. 

The High King had endeared himself to Erestor early in his reign and a mutual understanding existed between them, where Gil-Galad leaned upon Erestor's extensive skills and Erestor respected and trusted Gil-Galad's innate and excellent judgment. Erestor had thus risen rapidly in the ranks to become Gil-Galad's most senior advisor, a position only enhanced by his heritage as an elf of Aman. Which made this summons all the more remarkable. There was very little that occurred in this realm that he did not know about in advance.

Erestor nodded at the sentinels who guarded the entrance to Ereinion's private chambers, acknowledging in one glance the correctness of their presentation and stance. He made note to commend the Captain of the Guard on their exemplary appearance.

There were three occupants within the candlelit room, two of whom were known to him. He bowed.

"Your Highness, my Lord Círdan," he intoned, his dark eyes sliding to the third figure who sat at the window seat, shrouded in a hooded cloak. Erestor looked back to Círdan. "My lord, I was not informed of your impending arrival. If I had but known..."

Círdan waved away his apologies, his bearded face breaking into a warm smile. "None knew of my journey here, Erestor - and for the present none must know." He gestured to a nearby armchair, looking briefly to Gil-Galad for approval. "Please, Erestor, be seated - for my tale is not long but complex, and I fear that you will need the safety of a seat when you hear my telling. Manwë knows, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard the news. Actually," he chuckled, rubbing his beard, "Manwë probably does know!"

Erestor took the seat as directed, opposite his lord and in sight of the third elf, for so he supposed him to be. He focused upon the Shipwright, eager to hear the news that had so amazed such a great lord.

"Some months ago a ship sailed in from the West, with a messenger from Valinor."

Erestor nodded for, though extremely rare, an occurrence such as this had happened before. 

"More of the Istari? I thought that Curunír had said they would be but five?"

Círdan shook his head. "The emissary said that there was to be one returned to us, one who was being sent to serve the son of Eärendil, of the line of Turgon. One who had served that line before with valour, with honour. One who has been given the grace of the Valar to aid in his duties."

Erestor's mind was as sharp as ever and Gil-Galad nodded as the advisor grasped upon the one word which stood out in Círdan's telling.

"'Returned'?"

The shipwright nodded reverently.

"'Reborn, to be accurate." The elf turned to the mystery guest. "My lord, would you step forward and greet Master Erestor?"

From the shadows the hooded elf stood and stepped forth. From what Erestor could see he was an elf of immense height and breadth, moving with the caution of a trained warrior. Slowly his hands rose to the hood of his cloak and pushed it back. Golden hair tumbled from its confines and gentle sapphire eyes gazed at the dark advisor, capturing the midnight orbs that sparkled in the candlelight.

"Erestor, I wish introduce to you the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, Glorfindel of Gondolin."

Erestor could not look away from those absorbing eyes, that beautiful face - he did not want to look away. All he had thought lost stood here in the flesh, all that he had rejected in pride and obstinacy was made manifest. His heart leapt, his lungs exhaled and Erestor did what any sane elf would do when his soulmate returned from the dead - he fainted.

****

The room no longer spun when Erestor returned to consciousness, nor was he alone. There was but one other there awaiting his recovery and it was neither Ereinion nor Círdan.

"Glorfindel?"

The golden lord smiled down at him from where he sat by the chaise. 

"I didn't know if you would remember me - or if you would want to..."

Erestor looked up, confused. He barely recognized the spoken words when they were uttered; so intent was he in observing every curve, every nuance of Glorfindel's features, matching them to the template he had held in his memories for centuries.

"Not know you? Why would I not...?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Perhaps 'acknowledge' would have been a better choice of word. We were never - on the best of terms when we were children in Aman, though I never knew why."

Erestor flushed in agony when he remembered how cruel he had been to the ellon before him. What were his dreams, his fantasies when they were placed alongside the meanness of the deeds he had done to humiliate the young lord?

"I can only beg your forgiveness, my lord. I was a callow and jealous youth and my acts were hurtful and unwarranted."

Glorfindel gave a short laugh, and shook his head in amazement. "You, jealous of me? For what possible reason? Erestor, do you not know how special you were - how much I admired you? When you were not pinching me, or abusing me, that is!"

Erestor cringed and pulled back from the reassuring touch of the elf's hand, for he felt that Glorfindel was mocking him. He turned his head away, disgusted at his own behavior.

"Admired me? You jest, and the joke is ill-spoken," he said bitterly. 

"I do not, for I speak the truth. Do you truly not know how much you have to offer? You are beautiful, intelligent and witty. Your carriage is elegance personified, your hair as lustrous as Varda Elentári, and your eyes twinkle with stars over which she has domain. You have a generally gentle nature - when you were not tormenting me!" 

Erestor gasped. "How can you say such things, you who were as the light of Laurelin, as you are of Anor. You are a lord of the Noldor, a warrior renowned. Fair of face, of gentle nature, beloved by all." 

"But not by you!" Glorfindel paused in his outburst, looking down at his hands. "There was one time, perhaps two, when I thought that you might have some regard for me. When - I hoped..."

"The dance..." Erestor whispered, his throat too full of emotion at hearing the pronouncements of the ellon he had long thought beyond his reach, both socially and physically. 

Glorfindel clasped his hand hesitantly, increasing his grip gratefully when he felt Erestor accept it.

"The dance. I felt it then, this pull of our souls, and I almost cried out in joy to know that I had not been wrong in my feelings for you, and yet I was in despair that you did not seem to return those hopeless feelings." He snorted. "I was close to cursing Eru at that point for I knew that any attempt to press my suit at that time would be rejected."

"But I did! Or, I do now. I - I was confused at that time. I did not realise that my behaviour masked my greater - attraction - to you."

"I know. It was the seeming hopelessness of my case that was part of my decision to leave in the Exodus - because I knew that you would look upon me unfavorably. I saw you as I left. If you had spoken to me then... I would have stayed. The sight of you in that window almost caused me to stay."

Erestor cried out. "I tried! I almost ran to you, but another held me back! Then we - we learned of Alqualondë ..."

"No!" Glorfindel echoed his cry, clasping Erestor hard against him. "No, Erestor! I swear, we took no part in the Kinslaying save at Nerwen's side, to aid and succor the victims. We tried to hold them back, but we arrived too late! I swear - I do not carry the blood of our kin on my hands."

Erestor could hold his emotions in check no longer. His tears broke forth as he heaved great sobs against the comforting breast. 

"I thought that I had lost you then, that you were outcast to us. My true feelings - my love - for you became manifest that day and I raged against my foolish self that I had turned you away from me before I had even realised that love. When the call came to journey to Middle Earth I fought for my place in the army, for I was consumed with the thought of seeing you again, to make amends and to - confess - of my - love... but I then learned -"

"Of my death?"

Erestor nodded against the rumbling chest, clinging to Glorfindel as Glorfindel must have attempted to cling to that fateful cliff - as if he were clinging to life itself.

"Erestor." Glorfindel grasped the sharp chin, raising the dark elf's head so that he could gaze into those star-filled eyes. "Melmë, we have seemed to be at cross purposes our whole lives. Before you were summoned tonight, the High King suggested that you should be the one to reintroduce me to life in Middle Earth - I *have* been absent for some time. I agreed, and if you agree too then this might be the perfect way for us to learn about each other even as I learn about my new duties. What do you think, Erestor? A good idea?"

Erestor smiled, scarcely believing that all his dreams were on the verge of coming true.

"I agree, my lord. An excellent idea."

"Then it is done," Glorfindel grinned. "But there is one thing that is left to be done before we conclude this mutually beneficial meeting."

"And what is that?"

"This!"

The rose pink lips descended with alacrity, meeting Erestor's with a devotion that declared convincingly Glorfindel's claim on the beautiful advisor. Abandoning himself to the moment Erestor returned the kiss with fervor, parting his lips eagerly to meet the questing tongue with his own. In many things Erestor was a master - of numbers, of words, of debates and treaties. In love he was as the most innocent of virgins, trembling at the unknown yet eager for his initiation. Whether Glorfindel had had it in mind to love Erestor to completeness that night would never be known, but the advisor at least had no intention of leaving that room without the full attention of the elf he had loved without hope for nigh on four thousand years.

Stricken by the eagerness of his newly-declared lover, Glorfindel could not restrain himself when confronted by all he had hoped for since his rebirth. The awkward position of chaise and chair was the first to be corrected when he lifted Erestor from the chaise and laid his slender frame on the piled rug in front of the glowing fire. The two elves pulled and pushed, tussling away the restraining garments, their fingers searching for exposed flesh to touch and stroke and soothe and ...

The quest was successful, the garments discarded yet the roaming hands seemed not satisfied by that fact. Erestor could not get enough of the glowing flesh and added his mouth to the exploration, tasting neck, chest, breast in his search for fulfillment. The salty taste of the warrior's skin only excited him more as he moved lower. 

Glorfindel gasped as the heat of Erestor's mouth hit his bare skin. Varda! Whatever he had hoped for when he had declared himself to Erestor it was certainly not this - but he was not complaining! As the lips wandered lower his breaths became increasingly shorter, so delicious were the sensations the dark elf aroused. Beyond those luscious labia delicate digits roamed and, unthought of as a tool in love-making but equally as erotic, that sensual fall of midnight hair that brushed like teasing silk across his belly. Aiya, how could he stand such intense stimulation?

As if Erestor had heard his thoughts the movement stopped, directly above his swollen member. He throbbed with an aching pulse, but his lover did not move.

"Erestor?" he queried softly. Erestor's face emerged from the parted curtain of hair. His expression was unreadable.

"Glorfindel, I -" He blushed, a worried look on his face. "I have never - not with a male..."

Glorfindel smiled, reaching down to touch the anxious face. "You have never lain with an ellon?"

Erestor nodded, the embarrassed blush returning. Glorfindel smiled, a gentle curve of the lips that was full of love.

"Then I am honoured beyond words, my sweet Erestor. I wish that I had such a generous gift to offer you, but I cannot lie. Yet still I would offer you myself, either as the recipient of your love or to be the instigator of your first encounter. The choice is yours, my love."

"Then - then I choose that you should - should take me, my lord," the dark elf stuttered. "I would hold you within me, so that you could know all of me. I want you - inside me..."

Glorfindel looked at him intently. "Are you sure?"

"Just - go slowly."

"Like... the first time..."

He did. Turning so that Erestor was supine upon the rug, Glorfindel cast his eyes about the surfaces of the room before they alighted upon the very thing he needed, a vial of sweet oil that Gil-Galad obviously used to soften hands hardened by warfare. He uncapped the vial, drizzling the oil on his fingers.

"Know you that which I am about to do?" he asked Erestor. Erestor nodded, his eyes wide in anticipation. "Then relax, melmë. There may be some discomfort at first, but I will bring you through that pain to pleasure unheard of."

With that he settled himself over the slim figure, capturing those tempting lips with his own, nibbling and nipping at the tender flesh. With his oiled hand he delved between Erestor's legs, parting his thighs so that he could reach his goal. Erestor panted as he felt a single digit enter him, probing, oiling - easing the way. And more did follow, one, two, three - pressing, twisting, dilating but the pain was as naught when the tips brushed the inner nub, causing Erestor to leap in delirious reaction. Again and again Glorfindel tried him, sampling the milky throat, the peaked tip of the sweet ear until Erestor was begging beneath him. Unable to resist his cries no more, Glorfindel withdrew his fingers and prepared himself quickly.

The pressure of the first push of erection into orifice stung beyond that which Erestor had expected but Glorfindel kept his promise and was slow and careful. So slow was he that by the time he was fully inserted Erestor was raising his hips, begging for more. Keeping his thrusts slow and deliberate Glorfindel began this eternal dance, aiming and finding that small gland that brought such intense pleasure when stimulated. Now Erestor was writhing beneath him and the golden lord knew that he had never seen such a beautiful sight - so beautiful that he could linger no more. Lost in the moment he began to thrust with abandon, bringing them both near to that explosive cliff. And then they fell, Erestor crying out his name as spasms of completion shuddered through his body, echoed by the warrior's own orgasmic groans.

The two lay entwined - satisfied, complete. They were now one in body and soul, a union long denied by misunderstood emotions and uncaring circumstances. As Erestor of Aman gazed into the loving eyes of Glorfindel of Gondolin, happy beyond his wildest dreams, he knew for the first time that he was now -

Home. 

Elvish:

Melmë - love/beloved (Quenya)

*****

THE END


End file.
